


What could I do to make you stay?

by Ars_Daemonum



Category: Digimon - All Media Types, Digimon Frontier
Genre: Gen, pre-Frontier, some slight strabimon/flamemon if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 06:32:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8787295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ars_Daemonum/pseuds/Ars_Daemonum
Summary: Training to become part of a group of Legendary Warriors takes a lot, mentally a physically. The bonds formed with them should never be severed, but the will to remain begins to thin for one of them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually a test fic to see if I'd want to write more Frontier in the future! Hopefully, I can make this part of a series; I have a lot drafted up for the Warriors, and I really hope I can write more for them. I don't see too much content of them (not a bad thing at all tho!), and I'd like to contribute a bit more~ This is a little in the middle of things though, I apologize!  
> I'M SO SORRY MY FIRST DIGIMON WORK IS ANGST I SWEAR I'LL RECTIFY THIS--

His fists balled as they slammed against the wall without even a dent to show for it. Thick, hot tears rolled through the thin fur beneath his eye, soaking into his coat as they continued to fall. Strong jaws tightened to the point of strain as he held another sob in, throat closing despite his desperate gasping for air. Thankfully, the dimness of the room hid his curled maw, the way his ears were pinned back in a mixture of anger, fear, and unimaginable sadness.

A note rested on the table in the middle of the small room, torn in half and crumpled up as the reader wished not to acknowledge what was written. The stench of a recently extinguish candle wafted through the dusky air, the acrid smoke burning the inside of Strabimon’s nose. 

This was going to be a painfully lonely night, wasn’t it?

This didn’t feel like it would be the reality the warrior-in-training lived. He had grown up his entire life knowing that he’d be part of something, flanked by others in whatever cause they were backing. The thought of someone leaving that group of others didn’t even cross his mind once, believing that complete strangers could come together and get along despite their blatant differences. What a fool you are, Strabimon, he thought to himself. How could you think something like this would last more than a few weeks? He bit down on his quivering lip, letting his teeth sink into the soft flesh until a coppery taste filled his mouth. 

Salty tears mixed with the froth of saliva and blood, thin red cobwebs being spun on the light fur of his jaw. This wasn’t the same kind of outburst Strabimon was susceptible to-- there was no broken furniture, no additional claw marks marring the walls. This was completely internal; whatever was within the Digimon felt unbalanced, away from the world as a whole as he attempted once again to take in what had happened. 

Flamemon was an idiot. At least, Strabimon thought that way at first, given how the other acted. The usual antics weren’t always appreciated, ranging from completely harmless pranks to potentially dangerous ideas, but nobody ever got hurt. Sure, there would be collateral damage now and then, but at the end of the day, Strabimon never saw anything wrong with something to lighten up the mood around their temporary home. He slowly began to grow on Strabimon in spite of the wolf Digimon’s initial opinion, eventually forming a bond that could be considered unbreakable to many. Between leaving for meals and spending free time practicing together, they were convinced that nothing could tear them apart. 

It was as if Flamemon didn’t want to get left behind, though. 

Even if they were to fill the shoes of a future generation of warriors in the Digital World, not everyone had the best control of their abilities. Strabimon himself still refused to use his full capability in battle, his friend following suit with a silent vow. He clenched his teeth as he remembered the battle earlier, fists balled so tightly that his gloves were punctured by his own claws. 

It was because Strabimon pushed his own limits. 

The fight itself was nothing to shake at; a few troublemakers popped up to try convincing particularly weak ‘mons to follow Lucemon. If they hadn’t used force, the group wouldn’t have been asked to intervene; their instructor told them to disperse the root of the problem and protect the younger Digimon. Of course, this would be a bit difficult, given that their adversaries were of a much higher tier than them-- they literally towered over the battle-ready partners. This wouldn’t take too much, they told themselves, but they found themselves being thrown against the ground anyways, faces pressed into the dirt at the antagonizer’s feet. The jeering laughter and the slightest whimpering from Flamemon forced Strabimon over his own edge. In a dream-like state, he rose to his feet, now eye-level with their attackers. Without hesitation, he let out a battle growl, reaching for his wood practicing sword, grabbing something entirely new instead. There wasn’t time to question this he thought, feeling the blade of energy slice effortlessly through one of them, their code returning to the sky as there was a sharp cry of pain from his friend.

He was on fire. Strabimon had seen this happen in the past, but that was usually played for laughs and shaken off easily. No, this was something else entirely. It appeared he had control for the briefest of moments, managing to stand and risk a fighting pose, but soon collapsed. Strabimon rushed to their side, arms already out to help them, but Flamemon stood once again. His breathing was labored, small flames still licking at his arms as his face contorted into one of the most enraged expressions Strabimon had ever seen. It felt like a funeral pyre for the briefest of moments, the warrior of light waiting with baited breath to see if his friend would make it through this. 

Squeezing his eyes shut, Strabimon’s mind became aware of the present again. It was all my fault. If I hadn’t evolved and set new standards, he never would’ve done this. 

The note came around breakfast the next morning. Although Strabimon wanted to celebrate their victory and the sheer power Flamemon was capable of, he was cut short at the sight of the note. He didn’t want to open it for fear that it was for someone else, quietly moving it to the side of his tableware. At first, he waited patiently, watching the others file in and say thanks for their food. He didn’t partake, sitting at the table and waiting for Flamemon, claws folded neatly over his empty plate. When everyone began standing up to begin daily activity, he was struck with the feeling that this was something worse than initially thought. Slowly, he got back up, placing his unused dish with the others as he grabbed the note, padding back up the stairs to knock on his friend’s door. Once there, though, he paused, fingers mid-knock. 

Somehow, he knew there wouldn’t be an answer. 

He knocked anyways. 

One. 

Two.

Three times. 

No answer came. Strabimon was fearful to speak. The weighty air settled on his shoulders, rooting his body to the floor. The only part of him that could move were his arms, lifting the letter to his snout to get a better look. 

No name, no address. It smelled of ashes, the edges frayed and the paper brittle in his hands as he opened the envelope. Strabimon forced his hands to steady, wishing to draw on whatever strength he called upon the day before. Still, he felt it was better to rely on his own capabilities-- this was a message from his friend to himself, not anyone else. He shouldn’t be dreading this. This should be an eye-opener, a look into the other’s mind the other day. Maybe it was something positive?

No matter what he did, he couldn’t think of any remotely positive contents this could have written in it. 

Peeling the seal open, he read the words once. Again. One more time for good measure. Nothing changed with each reading, no words magically became what he wanted to read more than anything else. This might as well have been a letter of resignation. Ten had become nine, the elemental imbalance shattered the harmony. 

Strabimon tore the paper in half, crumpling each piece in his fists. He couldn’t look at it anymore, even if he had an idea of what was in there. 

“Flamemon, you idiot,” he hissed through his teeth, pacing back to his room as calmly as he possibly could. He wanted nothing more than to break through the flooring, shatter the windows, turn the walls to dust and eliminate the very foundation the house stood on. However, no matter how deep he looked for the drive to do this, nothing was there. The well of power he dipped into the other day was completely gone, leaving him to curl up against his own small form in his room, snarling at the familiarity.

It would feel comforting in any other situation. The two spent hours in this room for how clean it was, huddled under blankets as they read through old texts of the Digimon War, wide eyes at the balcony to observe the stars above. The feeling of their bodies next to each other resting in the same bed after a long day, a comforting heat at the wolf Digimon’s back in the dead of night. 

He balled his fists and struck the wall again, lacking the force to put a dent in it. 

“I’m sorry.”


End file.
